


Hen Night

by geekmama



Series: Honorable Intentions [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Humor, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 20:31:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6581086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekmama/pseuds/geekmama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock was no gentleman. At least in this instance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hen Night

**Author's Note:**

> For the "Blue" prompt.
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Sherlock’s preparations had been most thorough: He was dressed entirely in black and was _sans_ his all too distinctive Belstaff; had pinched a pair of the British government’s latest technology in night vision goggles; and finally, had greased the right palm, that of Jimmy Swank, aka James Alistair Pratt, formerly of Sherlock’s bad old days at university, currently part owner and manager of London’s premier male strip club, BoyToys. The notice out front might read, “Gentlemen prohibited while show is in progress: Ladies only”, but Jimmy’s office  was in the back, accessed via a dimly lit alley, and Sherlock was no gentleman. At least in this instance.

“Ten minutes, Shezza,” Pratt said, a warning in his voice as he led Sherlock down a hallway to an unobtrusive back door to the performance area, “and if the bouncers catch you, I’m denying everything.”

Sherlock nodded and, opening the door, slipped inside.

He had made an effort to put a good face on Molly’s attendance at her Hen Night. Tradition and social convention were not to be eschewed lightly, after all. And really, he wasn’t even certain why he was disturbed by her friends’ plans: drinks (and gifts of such items as skimpy babydoll lingerie, crotchless knickers, and sex toys, if Mary Watson was to be believed) at Little Nan’s 90’s Party Bar, followed by a Japanese teppanyaki dinner at Matsuri, and then… Pratt’s notorious establishment.

Sherlock had been oddly taken aback by Molly’s eager anticipation to watch a series of burly males strip and dance naked before her -- “I’ve never been to one of those clubs before. This will be _fun!_ ”. But the final straw was the ensemble she’d acquired for the event.

“Do you like it?” she’d asked, parading before him in her latest fashion acquisition, a short A-line frock. It was a simple garment of a subtly glittering deep blue voile lined with matching satin, yet the fitted bodice with its low-cut princess decolletage had made her appear almost voluptuous, the trio of thin straps over each shoulder accented to perfection their delicate skin and the shape of bone and muscle, and the flaring skirt flowed enticingly over (what he’d long suspected and now _knew_ to be) her perfect backside.

He’d made little verbal reply, but it had not taken him more than two minutes to get her out of the dress and into bed.

And if he’d found her Hen Night ensemble so inspiring, might not others be similarly affected?

But now, standing in the deep shadows, his whole being inundated by the throbbing bass of the music, he took a detailed surveillance of BoyToys’ main theatre -- a large round, artfully lit dance floor set off from the surrounding tables and open spaces by a sturdy waist-high railing -- and he could see that the only males in the room were the two bouncers (big but stupid, easy enough to avoid) and the dancer himself, one of five who would perform that evening.

The man was even now in the final stages of rhythmically stripping off what appeared to be a tear-away policeman’s uniform. A  fit and very muscular body was revealed, the man’s privates kept so only by a sequined G-string. Sherlock grimaced, but not only at the thought of enduring such discomfort.

An intentionally seductive performer, the dancer was surrounded on all sides by a writhing mass of hooting, laughing, whistling, shouting, even screaming women. Some of those nearest the railing held out crumpled banknotes to be tucked into the elastic of his G-string when the man would trot close enough. He thanked them with grins, air kisses, or perhaps a shimmy to match that of his patroness, but the women were warned off if they tried to make further physical contact -- apparently against the rules. The scene was unhinged depravity, not quite mass hysteria, but something very like.

And Molly, _his Molly_ , was somewhere in this crowd.

He studied the females individually, now, and presently found Molly’s flock of Hens, which included not only a number of her Bart’s co-workers and old friends from uni, but Mary Watson (hooting and writhing with the best of them) and -- _oh my God --_ both their _mothers!_ Sherlock gaped at the sight of Mummy laughing and shrieking something colorful while enthusiastically holding out a ten pound note.

He nearly fled, there and then. But he still had not caught sight of his betrothed, so he steeled himself and pulled out the night vision goggles. After some adjustment he was able to see deeper into the dim, away from the stage, and presently he did see Molly, some way behind Mary, swaying, clapping, smiling -- when she remembered to do so. Watching her closely, it became (gratifyingly) obvious to him that she was not entirely swept up in the pandemonium. She was hanging back. Keeping up appearances, so to speak. And Sherlock suspected -- no, _knew_ \-- that these efforts were made to spare her friends (and, God help them, _family_ ) disappointment at her lack of enthusiasm.

Sherlock was suddenly aware of feeling very strange, as though some great weight had been lifted. He refused to analyse it further, but found himself unable to suppress a small huff of relief and the thought, _All is well._

*

It was approaching two in the morning by the time Sherlock was roused from his doze on Molly’s couch as the door of the flat quietly opened and she entered. Setting down her wrap, handbag, and a largish gift bag, she came to him, smiling, and he shifted a bit, allowing her room to sit by him on the edge of the couch. She leaned forward, brushed his hair from his forehead and kissed it.

“How was it?” he asked, his voice sleepy, caressing her hip, his calloused fingers catching a little in the soft voile of her frock.

“It was fun!” she said. “Wait until you see all the funny gifts.”

“Funny?”

“Well… _sexy_. In a funny sort of way. You’ll like them, I think.” Her eyes twinkled.

He chuckled. “So it all went as planned? Who was there?”

Her smile slipped. “Yes, pretty much as planned. The chefs we had at Matsuri were really brilliant, so entertaining. And the food was delicious!”

Sherlock nodded, then prompted, “And BoyToys? Did it live up to expectation?”

Her smile slipped even further. “Well… no.”

“No?” He frowned an inquiry.

She bit her lip, then said, worriedly, “Sherlock… do you think I’m a prude?”

He stared -- she was quite serious -- and then laughed outright and took her hand in his. “In light of the significant, intriguing, and increasingly varied evidence I’ve gathered during the last two months, I’d have to give that query a resounding _no_.” He kissed her hand, and allowed himself a wolfish grin.

Predictably, adorably, she blushed.

“But what makes you ask, my Molly?” he asked.

She frowned. “It was BoyToys! I… it… the men -- the dancers -- were very talented, of course. Very good performers. But… they were rather beefy. And sweaty. The lights, must be very hot, of course, and they are very _energetic_ dancers. But…”

“But… not quite what you like?”

“No!” Her consternation was evident. “And I couldn’t help feeling that way, but I felt ridiculous, too! All those women -- certainly everyone in my party -- your _mother_ , Sherlock! _My_ mother!” She looked most distressed.”They all _loved_ it. And I…”

“Didn’t?”

“No.”

“Well, perhaps you prefer something rather more _cerebral_?” He moved his fingers lightly, ruching up her skirt to reveal a length of thigh, the top of her silk stocking, the garter fastening it…

And at that she began to smile again.  “Yes. Cerebral. _And_ gorgeous.”

He chuckled, pulling her down against his chest, his hand now slipping _under_ her skirt. Her own fingers ruffled the hair on either side of his head, and she drew close, but before she could kiss him he said to her in low and seductive tones, “ _I_ can dance.”

“Can you, now?” Her eyes lit with laughter -- and love. “Show me!”

 

~.~


End file.
